


Barely Breathing

by Staleina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Feels, Multi, POV Changes, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, fade stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staleina/pseuds/Staleina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan finds herself at risk of drifting into depression after the defeat of Corypheus, due to the loss of her clan, internal conflicts and Solas having left her behind without explanation.</p><p>Her main task completed and her 'duty' done, she needs to find something else to focus on so she may find a purpose once again. Much like her companions have.</p><p>Of course, the Inquisition rise to power has drawn the attention of others, both to request aid and to try to bring them down. It seems neither the Inquisition or the Inquisitor will be getting rest any time soon.</p><p>(It's the busy time of year at my work, so my updates will be a lot slower until it's over. I'm sorry about that :( )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restless

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about Mearra Lavellan, my first Inquisitor. I will do my best to avoid using her name within the story as not to ruin your immersion.  
> If it is something that you don't mind, let me know :)
> 
> Fenris will be her intended LI, provided they co-operate. It's going to be an incredibly bumpy ride and slow burn for those two.  
> You have been warned.  
> Solas is mentioned in the relationship tags because he was her romance during the game and there may be flash backs for story line purposes..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan discovers that although Solas left her without so much as a letter, he did not leave her with nothing.
> 
> Cole tries to comfort her and convince her to change her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dry at parts. It is meant to introduce you to the character and just give you a general setup. I promise this won’t be how I write everything. At least I hope not.

Mearra Lavellan  
  


 

**Chapter One: Restless (Introduction)**

Lavellan locked the door to her chambers behind her, bracing her back against it as she did. All she needed was some time to herself to breathe, just one moment where she could take the smiling Inquisitor mask off of her face and be somewhere that she felt a little less out of place. Only once in the privacy of her quarters, alone, did she feel she could let her guard down and her shoulders drop. She needed to get away from all the prying eyes full of questions that analyzed her every movement, word, and expression.

_One wrong move would be all it takes to be knocked down and drowned in all of my mistakes._

She could still hear the loud laughter and bursts of banter from strangers and friends alike in the grand hall below where they rejoiced in Corypheus’ defeat. The well-earned celebration was a great success with everyone at Skyhold. Everything had been planned to the smallest detail by Josephine well in advance. As always, the ambassador seemed to have a plan for every situation tucked up her overly ruffled sleeves. Josephine even had backup arrangements in case they were defeated. Of course, that would have entailed far more packing and much less dancing, but approximately the same amount of alcohol.

Lavellan wished that she could have stayed with everyone and shared in their joy, but she couldn’t. The battle against Corypheus and the long trip back to Skyhold combined with the aching hole in her heart had drained her of her strength. She didn’t have enough energy left to last the night, much less uphold the facade of the hero they believed her to be: the unbowed, unflinching and undefeated Inquisitor Lavellan and ‘Herald of Andraste’.

_I broke when told my face was marred by writing that deemed me a slave._   
_I allowed the markings of my people to be removed without question._   
_I flinched when he turned away, and now my heart feels defeated._

If she’d remained there any longer Varric or The Iron Bull would have noticed something was off in her movements. Cole would have started painting a verbal picture of her otherwise silent suffering as he pulled it from her mind, announcing it to the room without realizing the damage that he would have caused in doing so. The illusion the Inquisition had built of her as the beacon of hope would have crumbled to the floor in front of all of their guests. Even Josephine would have had trouble fixing the damage that that could have done. It was best for everyone that she left while spirits were still high and they were all too deep in their cups to notice her absence.

It didn’t help that the scent of some of the foods at the buffet below were making her stomach turn and she had no idea as to why. She should have been diving for the delicious frilly cakes and jumping at the opportunity to try a ham that tasted of despair. Instead, she gagged at the sights and scents of it all. Even the apple pie that the baker had made especially for her didn’t tempt her.

Her stomach was already protesting far too much for her to hold anything down that wasn’t liquid—not to mention that the idea of risking her bowels being let loose onto Vivienne’s gown was terrifying. She would never be able to live that down and Varric would surely put it in writing to ensure that the moment would never be forgotten. _‘Velour and Vomit-A Divine Story’. How many prayers would a person’s penance be for sullying the Divine raiments? Hmmm._

She could take away all of his quills and threaten to shoot him out of a trebuchet and he’d still find some way to get the story out there. She still wasn’t sure how the rest of Skyhold found out about her antics after Iron Bull had her join him for a drink in celebration after their first dragon kill, but she was pretty certain it was all Varric’s doing. _“Think of it as doing my part in boosting the morale around here. It’s good for them to know that even her Inquisitorialness gets drunk once in awhile.”  Thanks, Varric…_

The last thing she wanted was to dampen the spirits of those around her. She didn’t want to answer the barrage of questions that would follow or see their pitying eyes either.  She was a proud Dalish hunter, she didn’t need their pity. She just needed time to heal without being constantly fussed over. She wanted them to be happy, even if she wasn’t.

_I should be relieved that we've won instead of feeling trapped and heartbroken like a love sick da’len. Foolishly pinning after a man that tossed her aside without a word goodbye._

_I am better than this!_

A piece of her had hoped coming to her quarters would give her some answers. Maybe he would be there waiting for her so he could explain everything, but as she walked up the steps and wandered around the room unconsciously searching for him, she could see he wasn't there. He hadn't come to clear her mind, to soothe her heart or to make things right. There wasn't even a letter to say farewell left on her desk or her bed. No, all she found was a cold and empty room instead.

_“What we had was real._ ” she muttered under her breath disparagingly. “What we had is _lost_.”

She sighed as she walked alone in her lavish and over-sized room, decorated in a style that reflected next to nothing of herself. “Her” Inquisitor blade hung above the fireplace, a blade only used for ceremonies or when there was an execution to be done by her hand. The blade wasn't even truly hers, it was the Inquisition’s. It was just another prop placed in her palm to help shape her into the symbol of what she was supposed to represent. A piece that never felt quite right when she held it.

The only things marking the room as hers were the weapon and armor racks with her gear, along with a few relics she'd collected during her travels. Regardless, the Orlesian style overwhelmed everything else and there was little, if anything, that would indicate that it was a Dalish elf that slept there at all.

Her hand reached out quickly to steady herself, grabbing the balcony railing as a sudden bout of nausea brought her mind back to the present, causing her to lose balance in the process. She didn't even remember stepping outside. _When did I wander out here?_

If she still felt nauseous in the morning, she’d have to ask her servant to fetch Adan. He didn't treat anyone but her and he was the only healer she let near her when she had the choice, despite the fact he was as prickly as a porcupine. She’d trusted him since Haven and she knew he secretly liked ensuring that his old patient was alright. Not to mention they’d saved each other’s lives in the past, that in itself made them close.

That was assuming he'd be in any condition to. Last she saw of him, he was taking Iron Bull up on the ‘Dragon Piss Challenge’. Most people that dared didn't get up from that until very late the next evening, nursing a headache described as feeling as if a dragon had stomped on their head, picked them up, and then flung them into a mountainside. Those symptoms were for seasoned drinkers. Those that weren't would rather wish for a month straight of Cullen’s most gruesome training exercises over going through that hangover ever again.

The freezing cold air was biting at her skin and the railing was like ice to the touch, causing her to pull her hand back almost instantly. Goosebumps prickled along her flesh as she shivered against the cold.  She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to retain some warmth before returning to her room and closing the balcony’s glass doors to shut out the cold. Lavellan grabbed her robe off the back of her desk’s chair and slipped it over her shoulders, shielding herself from the constant chill that permeated the place and desperately trying to regain some sense of warmth. _Only an Avvar or Fereldan born could sleep here without freezing half to death._

The Inquisitor had been born closer to Wycome where the weather was warmer. Lavellan still occasionally struggled against the cold in the mountainside and whoever had designed her chambers hadn't considered how impossible it would be to warm it with just one fireplace. _Maybe I can convince some kind mage to place heat runes along the floor boards..._

Her eyes scanned over the stacks of paperwork that had piled up on her desk while she was out in the field. Her fingers flipped through them idly while she reached for an empty cup and then settled herself into her chair, ready to reach for a pitcher of water she had nearby.

She froze as she caught the scent of a drink she never remembered pouring coming from the glass. An aromatic steam coming from the cup, now warm to the touch.

“Cole?...”

“That is my name.” His voice came from her bed’s general direction.

Once hearing his voice, she allowed herself to take a sip. “Thank you, this tastes lovely.”

“You like cider. It smells nice and brings memories.” He sat at the edge of her bed. His feet interlocked as he tapped his heels along the baseboards.

She smiled, bringing the cup to her mouth and appreciating the smell of spiced apple cider before taking a sip and enjoying the warmth of the cup as she cradled it in her hands.

“Why aren't you celebrating with the others?” She tapped the rim of the glass with her nails as she looked over to him. Was it all too much for him with so many people in one place?

“They don't need me. You scream while they whisper.”  His fingers gripped into the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as if he’d felt physical pain for a brief moment.

“I'm alright, Cole. Really. You should be celebrating with them instead of being here with me. Enjoy yourself.” _Please, go._

His head tilted to the side and his eyes stared at the floor. “ _Avoid the questions, queries, prying. Could we have fixed it if we tried? Would they see weakness if I cried?”_

She sighed deeply and took a long drink of the cider he had brought her, leaving the glass only half full as she put it back down on the desk a bit too firmly. The remaining liquid sloshed about a moment before it settled.

“You don't have to be alone. I could help you forget. Fix the hurt, pluck out the pain.” He sounded almost pleading.

“I need to be stronger, Cole. I can't have you fixing it by having me—”

He interrupted her. _“Want to forget without forgetting. Let it go, without regretting.”_ His brows furrowed in confusion and his eyes looked up to meet hers. “But you can't regret what you forget.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose while trying to stay patient. He was trying to help. Unlike the others, he couldn't help his prying, it was as natural to him as breathing was to her.

“Cole...I learn nothing from erasing the painful memories of my past.” _How ironic it would be if I did. ‘While trying to recover the forgotten history of her people, Inquisitor Lavellan can’t even remember her own’._

“What do you learn from keeping them?” He sat there looking at her for awhile as she waited patiently for him to find the answer. _“How to bend but not break. How not to repeat the same mistake.”_ His face lit up with the realization before it sunk into sadness. “...you want me to stay away...” His shoulders slumped and his eyes trailed downward.

“Yes, but only for a little while.” Her chest tightened as she heard the hurt in his voice.

“Do I have to go far?” His eyes and tone filled with worry.

She pushed her chair back and walked over to him to put her hand on his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“You can stay at Skyhold, Cole. I just...I can't have you close by until I am steady. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” He pushed himself off of the bed slowly, being careful not to step into her as he made his way silently towards the stairwell. Her hand slipped from his shoulder and fell to her side as he moved away.

The spirit paused just at the top of the steps. His eyes blank as they looked down to the door below.

_“She doesn't know that she could keep it. There would be help were she to seek it.”_

Lavellan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to think of what Compassion could be talking about this time. When she opened her eyes and mouth to ask him to explain, he had already gone. With a sigh, she returned to her desk. Her questions would have to wait for another time.

There was only so much one could do when hiding in their room to keep their mind distracted. The piles of paperwork on her desk would have to do— she’d put them off long enough. At least they could keep her occupied until she could no longer hold her head up and then slip away into exhaustion-driven, dreamless sleep.

It was late by the time she was done reading through all the reports. Skyhold had quieted down and only stragglers were still wandering about drunkenly while making their way back to their or someone else’s bed.

Sleep was calling her, clawing at the edges of her consciousness and weighing down her eyelids. Though it didn’t tempt her as easily as it once had now that she slept alone. Her dreams were hollow shells of what they once were. Where once they were a work of art, shared with another, now they were simply faded pictures on a worn page, leaving her with nothing but disappointment.

She could almost sense Solas behind her. The feel of his lips pressing against her neck, soft and sensual. His hand drifting down her body as if to map her every curve. His voice beckoned her to join him in her bed or in the Fade. _“Come, ma’vhenan. The Inquisition will endure while you rest.  
_

_He is gone and I am alone._

_Surrounded by soldiers and cold stone._

She clenched her eyes shut, pushing back the memories of him from her mind as she carefully placed brick by broken brick around her harrowed heart. She wouldn't let his ghost haunt her any longer; after all, he had said that their _emotional entanglement_ benefited neither of them. Leaving his memory behind could only make her stronger. Provided that she could.

~~~

Lavellan crawled her way back into bed. She glared at the tray of food her servant had left on the bedside table as if it had done her some great injustice, her hands absentmindedly caressing her stomach as she rolled onto her back. The fresh taste of bile lingered on her tongue as she slammed the silver lid back down onto the platter with a loud clang, covering up the meal that was causing her such offence. She would have to tell her Mila to stop bringing her eggs. The mere sight of them was making her stomach flip about like a fish out of water.

Their smell had propelled her to rush for her dweomered bedpan to empty the contents of her stomach with a force that would have even frightened Iron Bull. Thankfully the dweomer caused the pan to be self cleaning and she did not have to endure the smell of vomit for long.

She would have to thank Dagna once again for her ingenuity in regards to her wash basin, bedpan, and bathtub. They had saved the servants much hardship in regards to carrying pails full of water or refuse up and down the many flights of stairs that led to her room. At least she would never have to worry about having underdeveloped calves.

It was Dagna that first discovered that Skyhold was riddled with magical runes for various practical purposes and with Vivienne’s assistance, they found means to replicate them as best they could to suit the Inquisition’s needs. Whomever took residence there before had no qualms of using magic or dwarven-like ingenuity to make their lives more comfortable, much to Vivienne’s delight.

The progress was slow, particularly since few mages knew how to enchant functional objects and Dagna only had so much time to spare, but the results were always highly rewarding and well appreciated. It took awhile to convince those more adverse to magic to agree, and they were always welcome to continue living without the comforts provided. It usually didn't take them long to lose their resolve and begin to embrace what wonders magic and engineering combined could bring.

“Ugh…” she groaned while she writhed around trying to find any sort of comfortable position until the  twisted feeling in her stomach and head subsided. Her morning sickness typically only lasted for an hour or so, then she could get dressed and head downstairs as if nothing was amiss. _Only a few more months and then this will be over._

Today she would have to meet with Leliana and Varric after her meeting that morning at the war table. They had arrangements that had to be made and soon. Much longer and it would be too late.

The rest of her advisors and companions had already been informed that she would be taking a leave of absence with the excuse that she needed a change of scenery, a well-deserved vacation.  Josephine of course delighted in the idea, thinking that it would do the Inquisitor good and even handed her a list of locations she should visit while she was away.

Cullen was harder to convince. He was still uncomfortable with the fact that she’d asked him to allow her to leave with only a small contingency of Nightingales to escort her on her trip. It was due to Leliana’s coaxing that he eventually relented, although he made it clear he did not feel it was wise. Particularly since it seemed that the Inquisitor had been suffering from some sort of ‘illness’ as of late.

Thankfully, Cullen was not familiar enough with women to recognized the signs she tried to hide and Josephine was too preoccupied with the political affairs of the Inquisition to notice them. Only a handful knew the truth, and that is how it would have to remain.

_Oh Cullen, if you had any idea. You would blush and apologize for an ‘illness’ that wasn't your fault. Then you’d turn into an over protective mabari, ensuring I got plenty of rest while treating me as if I were made of glass._

She grabbed a cloth from her bedside table and wiped the sweat from her brow and from around her neck. Why on earth did any woman in her right mind put herself through this sort of hell willingly? Her own mother had even subjected herself to it more than once. _Ir abelas, Mamae_ …She winced, a pang of guilt punching her chest.... _Please, forgive me._

_“Mix of past, present, pain and pride._ If you keep it, you wouldn't have to hide. _”_

Her eyes turned towards the familiar voice. _Of course he’d show up now._

It had been two months since she asked him to stay away and give her time. His parting words finally made sense to her. _How did he know?_

He must have decided he’d given her enough space and her time alone was up. He sat at the edge of her bed, looking hopeful.

The expectation in his eyes pulled at her pain and she had to look away. “Cole, you know I can’t.”

“You say words you don’t believe. Why?”

Her eyes stared at the ceiling instead of looking at the spirit of compassion. He sat close enough for her to touch but she pulled her hand away and pulled a pillow over her chest. One hand slipping beneath it while the other held it to her tightly. How could he understand that this was a cost she had to pay, an Inquisitor didn't have the option of running away.

“It’s too hard to explain. I just can’t do what you want. Not right now.” Her palm rested on her stomach, unconsciously moving her thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

“You wish to let it go without remorse. To believe you chose the right course.” He looked down at her blankets and started to play with the fabric, tracing its pattern with his fingertips.

Was that it? Was she just running from something that would be a constant reminder of her foolishness, her mistake, and her heartbreak? Or was she doing what she felt was best for everyone? It didn't matter anymore. The decision was made. She pulled her hand away from her abdomen abruptly and shoved it into her hair instead.

“You’ll keep an eye on everyone for me while I’m gone?” She looked over to him, her eyes trailing over the brim of his over-sized hat before looking him in the eye.

_“Always worried, watching, waiting, wondering_ —  Yes.” He nodded.

“Thank you.” She smiled a small smile before she turned away and pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

The faint smell of eggs slowly dissipated from the air and for that she was immensely grateful. With it gone, she fell easily back to sleep.

Cole was no longer there when she woke up, nor was the plate of eggs.

But an impatient and primly dressed ambassador was, hands at her hips. “You are late, Inquisitor.”

 

_If you only knew..._

~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Karini and Calypsid for proofing this chapter and putting up with me being incredibly nervous about it.  
> I also thank the girls from IIRC for tolerating me occasionally mentioning a story that I've never shared...for ages. SORRY Cipher & GTG!!  
> I'll post other chapters...eventually.
> 
> The beautiful artwork of Mearra was done by the talented Karini.  
> You can check out more of her gorgeous art at http://karininini.tumblr.com/


	2. A Little Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Inquisitor is distracted with other matters, Varric brings an old friend to Skyhold under the watchful eye of Cassandra Pentaghast.

**Chapter 2: A Little Push**

_It’s human nature to meddle with the lives of those we care about._  
_To try to fix things even when we have little understanding of what is actually wrong._  
_Our impatient need to see them better compels us to step in,_ _even when time may be the best remedy._  
_We can’t help but try to push things along – at least that is what we tell ourselves.  
__Sometimes bad can come from the best intentions and good from the most unwitting of mistakes_.

Cassandra focused her eyes just beyond the portcullis gates separating Skyhold from the rest of the Frostback Mountains. The sounds of people bustling past her as she stood at the top of the steps were drowned out by her own preoccupied thoughts.

She disliked keeping anything from the Inquisitor and she definitely didn't appreciate being dragged into one of Varric's little schemes. That was what this was, wasn't it? Some scheme of his that she hadn’t fully uncovered yet. He claimed that it involved him merely helping a friend get back on his feet by finding him a position within Skyhold, but she didn’t believe it. The more he tried to convince her he wasn’t up to something, the more suspicious she became. After all, nothing with Varric was ever simple.

Luckily for them, Josephine had the Inquisitor busy all day with nobles and matters that both Cassandra and Lavellan found trivial. Of course, Josephine did not share their views. She insisted that every appointment she’d arranged was of utmost importance.

Cassandra was skeptical that forcing the Inquisitor to meet with nobility could ever honestly help relations. Lavellan wasn’t known for being the most tactful when it came socialising with those that considered themselves as upper class, particularly those that felt the need to prove their status when standing in front of an elf. Typically, Josephine could excuse her informality by explaining that the Inquisitor had been raised with more open Dalish customs, in comparison to those found at court. But as of late, it was the Inquisitor’s temper that had started to get the best of her, which made things far more difficult for Josephine to explain.

Fortunately for Josie, Lavellan would soon be gone for months, giving her plenty of time to smooth over any relations that had been strained. Her absence would also allow Varric to do what he wanted without risk of being caught by an often overly curious elf, not that there had been much risk of her catching the scent of anything the past couple of months; she’d been keeping to herself lately and rarely left her chambers unless necessary.

Before her sudden need for seclusion, Lavellan had regularly spent time with her companions, blending in as just another elf among many at Skyhold. It had been simple for her to walk around unrecognized when she wore common clothing, a trick that The Iron Bull had taught her long ago.

Cassandra stood firmly outside the Skyhold main doors with Varric at her side. He watched her through the corner of his eyes, seeing how the scar along her jawline rippled each time she clenched her teeth in thought. He could hear the tight new leather of her gloves creak each time she clenched her hand in her impatience; she was never one for waiting. He smiled to himself, taking pleasure in her annoyance.

It had definitely taken some convincing on his part to get her to agree to allow him to bring his old friend to Skyhold. Regardless, the fact he could even make the stubborn Seeker budge at all felt like he’d won The Great Tourney itself. He’d be practically floating off of this victory for the next week.

He was curious to how she didn’t seem to notice the chilling winds that he could hardly tolerate. She was from Nevarra, not Ferelden, yet she seemed invulnerable to it. He had to invest in a much thicker and larger coat, one that he lovingly called his “Heart Breaker”; it covered his chest, protecting him from cold winds of the Frostbacks. Every time he put it on he’d chuckle, thinking of how Isabela would tell him how it was such a shame to deprive the world of his beautiful chest hair if she ever saw it.

“Varric, is it wise inviting this… associate of yours to Skyhold? The temperament you described gives me the impression that he could be a problem for all of us.” Her brows knitted in concern.

“Come now, Seeker, what _are_ you worried about? This is a great idea. Are a few mood swings really that terrifying? Are you afraid that our Inquisitor might have some one that could out _brood_ her?”

“You know as well as I do that she isn't _brooding_ Varric.”

“Call it whatever you like, but whatever it is, I don’t like it,” he said while crossing his arms across his chest. “Didn't I tell you to stop calling my _friends_ associates? Business partners are associates. People I have drinks and play cards with, those are friends. You _do_ remember what friends are, right?” He didn’t need to look up to know she was scowling down at him, her jaw clenched so firmly he thought her teeth might crack.

“Regardless, this...friend, from what I understand, is not completely stable. Nor will he co-exist well with the mages we have working with the Inquisition. Even with the templars for protection, he could still pose a threat. I assume you are aware of the risks you are taking by bringing him here. If he were to stir-the-cup, we may have a lot of cleaning up to do.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought of the possibility of old conflicts arising within Skyhold’s walls.

“It's 'stir-the-pot', and he won't do any of that. The majority of the time he keeps to himself. Just give him a bottle of wine and steer him away from the mages, especially Dorian, and he’ll be fiiiiine.” At least he hoped so. “We just need to watch him for the first bit until he gets used to how things are run around here. Besides, don’t you think this place could use a little more excitement? It’s getting so dull around here that I’m starting to run out of inspiration for my next book. I might have to start killing off main characters to keep things interesting.” He looked down to his gloved hands, his eyes locked on the straps around his wrists as he adjusted them, conveniently hiding the grin that was forcing its way onto his lips.

She gasped. “Varric, you wouldn’t!” Her eyes were wide with horror, her skin blanching just enough for him to notice. It wasn't until she heard him chuckle that she recomposed herself and her face went stern. “This place has seen enough excitement for more than a lifetime, Varric. You know that just as well as I do.”

“You need to loosen up a little, Seeker. Curly could appreciate an experienced warrior with a strong sword arm to join his ranks. You do remember that he used to fight beside Hawke, right?” _That’s right, go for her weak spot_. It was more than likely her curiosity in regards to anything to do with the Champion of Kirkwall that compelled her to wait with him for the caravan to arrive.

Varric would have to remind Fenris not to tell Cassandra anything about Hawke that could get any of them in trouble. Particularly any details about Merrill being a mage that ‘dabbled’ in blood magic. Last thing he’d wanted was the Seeker sending some of the Inquisition’s templars after Daisy.

It didn’t take much longer for both the supply wagons and passenger caravans to be spotted in the distance. The moment that they were seen on the horizon, Skyhold began to buzz with life. Runners headed in every which direction to notify those that needed to be, while curious onlookers crept out of the buildings to find a better place to watch all the fun.

All those responsible for overseeing the new arrivals were scurrying about, double checking that everything was in proper order. Only a fool would think this was the only checkpoint, of course. This was merely one that people were aware of, which is the way Leliana preferred it. _“Let them worry about hiding from what they can see, so they do not look for the things they can’t.”_ Leliana had said to him once, as if he hadn’t known that trick already.

Once the wagons had fully arrived and begun to be unloaded, the visitors and their packs were quickly organized by the nearby troops. Each person was approached, questioned briefly then sent in the direction they were meant to go. Some were being sent to groups with a leader waiting to escort them the rest of the way, while others being individually escorted to their destinations. Once each wagon was fully unloaded, a stablehand would step forward to lead its pair of draught horses to the stables. There, they would be unharnessed, untacked, fed and watered, providing them a well deserved rest before they would need to head out again.

It wasn’t difficult to detect the differences between the merchants, the aspiring soldiers and those that just wanted to serve somewhere they felt could be safe. Tourists and pilgrims, well...they were the most obvious of the bunch and were quickly directed to the gardens and room that served as a Chantry.

Surprisingly enough, it was the tourist trade which earned Skyhold and the nearest village a decent amount of coin. People travelled far and paid well to see where the Inquisition resided. Rumours went around that the gardens in particular could heal even the deepest emotional wounds. Although, Varric may have helped that particular rumour along. Of course, Cole was elated by the fact that so many hurts would come to Skyhold where he easily could help them. It meant he could stay with those that remembered him and still help the ones that forgot.

It wasn’t hard to spot the elf the dwarf was looking for. He was taller than other elves by a head, standing at equal height with some humans. His hair was white as the snow on the mountains and his tattoos made him stick out like a sore thumb; he had tried to cover them with a coat but the ones on his neck and over his chin were still clearly visible.

Fenris had grabbed his massive two-handed sword from where he had been in the wagon and reattached its sheath to his back while the coachman glared at him. The other passengers moved out of the way to avoid being hit by it. He and the coachman Dravus had obviously had a disagreement over where the weapon should have been stored— the tension between the two of them could be felt from twenty-five feet away. Fenris had clearly won.

Cassandra took a quick intake of breath. Her brows shot up and her eyes widened slightly as they trailed over the elf almost appraisingly from a distance. “Is that…him? He is not what I expected.”

Varric rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “Not you too. Trust me, his looks and sword arm are just about all he’s got going for him. He’s not the easiest to get along with, you’ll be sick of him before you know it.”

“Yet here he is, and not nearly as feral as you’d described. I suspect there is more value to him than you are leading me to believe.” She looked down at him accusingly, having gone back quickly from the doe eyed girl to the stern Seeker he knew within seconds.

 _Here we go again…_ “I said he’s not the _easiest,_ Seeker. It doesn’t mean he won’t grow on a few people, like a dwarven ale or...fungus. You can keep an eye on him, just not in _that_ way.” The last thing he needed was the Seeker tripping over herself every time Fenris walked by. Even the idea of her being all dreamy eyed while looking at him made Varric nauseated.

“Don’t be foolish, Varric. I am not a blushing maid. I would not be so foolish as to become infatuated with _that_ elf. Or any of your other...friends for that matter,” she stammered.

“Seeker, we really need to work on your vocabulary, expand it a little. Maybe I’ll buy you a Thesaurus for your birthday. You could have used imprudent, ridiculous, ill advised, unwise—” He counted off each word with his fingers as he listed them off.

“UGH! You are incorrigible!” Her chastising glare was practically palpable.

Varric chuckled, escaping her angry aura as quickly as his short legs could carry him, hurriedly descending the steps towards the caravans, while silently cursing the over abundance of stairwells in Skyhold.

Varric saw Fenris trying to avoid being bumped into by all of those that were either unloading themselves from the caravan, or retrieving someone from it. He gritted his teeth every time someone jostled him and glowered at any that accidentally slammed into him a bit too hard, causing some to stumble out of the way the moment they saw his expression. His displeasure with having so many people within close proximity was clear. If Varric didn’t get him out of there quickly, there was going to be a problem.

As he approached the caravan, he threw a gloved hand up into the air and called out to his old companion, trying to to catch his attention through the crowd. Unfortunately, with all the hustle and bustle, it seemed that his friend hadn’t heard him.

“FENRIS!! Over here!! No, over HERE!” Varric shouted, lifting Bianca up into the air, incidentally causing those closest to him to dart away, conveniently clearing up the area around him. Once Fenris had spotted him, Varric beamed, strapping Bianca on his back before approaching.

“Hey, hey! Welcome to Skyhold, where people come to test their mettle, their faith and their tolerance for terrible temperatures.”

“Or when they’ve been forcefully removed from their homes...” Fenris replied accusingly. He was obviously still unimpressed with the curious timing of his eviction and Varric’s invitation. Somehow the mansion he’d claimed as his own had been sold without anyone coming to look the place over. It seemed even Aveline was in on the plan, since the city guard had helped escort him out.

“Now, now, Broody, you should feel honored! We don’t just let anybody come up here. Well…not to stay anyway. Even the pilgrims are closely monitored and shipped out on the next caravan. But you get the grand tour and can stay for as long as you like.” Varric offered up a gallant grin to the elf, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be returned. “So long as you _behave_ of course.”

Fenris scowled, shooting Varric a glare before taking an uneasy look at his surroundings, tightening his coat about himself before turning back to get his pack off of the wagon. He hadn’t brought much, but then again, Fenris didn’t own much of anything in the first place.

Varric was relieved to see that Fenris had finally bought some new clothes and had taken his advice about wearing things that actually covered his markings. It may not have mattered if he ever lost his temper and started glowing like a lantern through it all, but it would still help stop a few wayward looks when he was calm. After all, the less attention he brought to himself, the better.

“I figured that I could bring you to the Commander before we grab something to eat. He’s usually in his office around now. With your sword skills, you could probably join up with the soldiers. It’s free room and board; sure, the weather is a bit cold up here but they’ll keep you clothed and fed.” _Not to mention give you somewhere to channel some of that anger of yours._

Fenris grumbled, stopping to take a moment to make sure he'd grabbed everything while ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since the night before and he was starting to feel it. It was not placing him in the best mood for conversation.

“Look, you’ll be treated with respect, get paid and you can quit without risk of anyone hunting you down if you end up hating it. If you ask me, that’s a pretty good deal. Now follow me before I change my mind about the whole thing.”

Varric could feel Cassandra’s eyes boring into his back, watching them. He wasted no time in directing Fenris towards Cullen’s office as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was for her to find a reason to lock Fenris up or send him packing before Varric could get his plan in motion. It was one thing to have her around for his arrival, so she’d feel like she knew all that he was up to; it was another to have her watch him long enough to figure out he may have had more in mind.

The sooner he could get Fenris into training, the better. As a member of the Inquisition, Varric wouldn’t have to make excuses to keep him there and Fenris would be earning his keep. The Inquisition could also give Fenris something to be proud of instead of wavering between brooding behind closed doors and running rampant in search of slavers to slaughter. Here, Varric could keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble. Hopefully.

It was an added bonus that the barracks were far from the library where Dorian liked to spend most of his time. Even though Dorian would be leaving to visit his family in Tevinter soon, it was best that Fenris could actually earn himself a respectable position before risking a run in with the man.

Varric knocked on the Commander’s door even though it had been left ajar. He could see Cullen bent over his desk, both palms plastered to its surface as he glared at the papers scattered over it, as if he hoped to scare them into completing themselves.

Varric pushed the door open “Hey Curly, do you have a minute? I’ve brought an old friend.”

Cullen looked up at the sound of Varric’s voice, one hand lifting to gesture them in. “Of course, come in. A break would be welcome from all of these forms.” He gestured his hands to the numerous papers in front of him, clearly having little affection for them.

“More letters from your many admirers?” Varric teased.

Cullen laughed, straightening himself. “Fortunately not. If they were, Leliana and Josephine would be in here reading over these as well. I would never hear the end of it.” With a sigh, he continued, “A few of the soldiers have decided to return home now that the war is over. I am to reassign my men to balance out the ranks and send commendations to those that have earned it before they leave.” He sounded disheartened; it was hard for a Commander to let go of good men.

“In that case, it looks to me like you’d have room for one more.” Varric gestured to Fenris, who was still standing in the doorway, not having fully followed him into the Commander’s office.

“You remember Fenris, don't you? He used to run around with Hawke and I, beating up bandits and taking down blood mages in Kirkwall. I thought he could come and give us a bit of a hand around here, what do you think?”

Cullen took a moment to look Fenris over. His memories of Kirkwall were foggy from the amount of lyrium he had been taking back then, as well as the fact that he prefered not to relive them, but he did remember Fenris. He was the elf that was often trailing in Hawke’s shadow, the one he’d occasionally seen in the Chantry with Sebastian Vael.

Even without the unforgettable lyrium tattoos, Fenris had a way of sticking out; he didn’t have the typical gentle look that the elves Cullen had most often seen around Ferelden carried. His dark skin tone indicated that he was from the north, and in the back of Cullen’s mind, he recalled Varric mentioning something about Seheron or Tevinter. Fenris’ jaw was chiseled and his eyes hard and hawk like, with black brows that made him appear cross, even when he wasn’t.

Most city elves walked as if they were scared they would break something or anger someone, while the Dalish walked as if they had a branch up their rears, looking down their noses at any they crossed. But Fenris reminded Cullen of a tiger; whether he was prowling or standing still, he seemed ready for combat.

“Is this what you want?” Cullen asked Fenris, a brow raised slightly in his direction.

It was then that Fenris stepped into the room. Varric could see the moment of hesitation where his friend must have realized what had been done. Varric had cut him off from Kirkwall and then placed a single path in front of Fenris, one with an opportunity to earn an honorable living as a free man; all Fenris had to do was take it.

Showing no signs of nervousness as he looked straight at Cullen, his green eyes unflinching. He bowed his head briefly. “I stand ready to assist, Commander Cullen.”

The scarred corner of Cullen’s mouth curved into a smile and he gave a nod of approval towards the two men standing on the other side of his desk; one of which had a nug-eating grin across his face, while the other...definitely did not. 

“It is settled then. Fenris, I welcome you to the Inquisition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my friends Calypsid and ANordDidit for proofing for me. You guys are the best!
> 
> (If you haven't read either of their fics, you should!)


	3. Two Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan has to put up with one more meeting before heading on her way.

**Chapter 3: Two Roads**

“Inquisitor! INQUISITOR!!! Is she even listening? Lady Montilyet, I will not stand for this! This is absolutely preposterous! I did not come all this way to be ignored!”

The shrill screech from the marquis jarred Lavellan’s mind back to the present, her hands instinctively covering her ears, blocking out the piercing nasal tone of his voice. She held back a grimace and opened her eyes to focus on the weasel-featured man in front of her, with his long pointed nose and thin gapped teeth seen just below his golden mask with amber accents.

_...I’m going to have a headache after this aren’t I?_

After nearly two months since the defeat of Corypheus there seemed to be no end to the amount of requests for the Inquisition’s aid. Various nobles and diplomats had either sent a messenger or come to Skyhold themselves, insisting that the Inquisition use its time and resources to rebuild their lands while they contributed little to none; as if the Inquisition’s sole purpose was to fix every building and feed every serf while the noblemen dined on roast pig back in their luxurious estates.

It wasn't that that the Inquisition was unwilling to help, or that it was short on resources; it was the level of ingratitude and disrespect that most of the nobles expressed that grated her nerves each time another diplomat demanded aid. If they weren’t too busy speaking down to her as if she were their servant, they were acting as if the Inquisition should behave as if it were their personal army or an extension of the Chantry. All of this tested her patience as she forced a smile on her face and disregarded their disrespectful tones as best she could.

During one unfortunate meeting, there had been a nobleman from Val Royeaux that had had the audacity to ask Josephine how much it would cost to have the elf _service his estate_ while the Inquisitor was within earshot. That had resulted in Lavellan returning his coat with the sleeves torn off and informing him that it could be the new fashion in Val Royeaux, which was where he should be promptly returning to. Varric retold that story for weeks, each time with new twists and embellishments to keep his listeners entertained.

Since that incident, Josephine had become much wiser about which nobles she would permit an audience with the Inquisitor and which she would keep at bay with the excuse that the Herald was otherwise occupied. Only when it was absolutely necessary were the less agreeable individuals brought face to face with her and to Lavellan’s dismay, this seemed to be one of those times.

Josephine’s fingertips pressed firmly against her desk’s polished surface, a gesture Lavellan recognized from whenever Josephine was trying to keep herself from covering her face in embarrassment. Normally, Josephine would have noticed the Inquisitor phasing out of the conversation the moment and given her a polite nudge to bring her attention back. But both of them had drifted after all of the important points had been finalized-over an _hour_ ago- and the marquis had moved on to rambling on about trivial matters which only served to cater to his own ego.

Lavellan had noticed during the course of the conversation that even Josephine struggled to feign interest, her fingers occasionally flicking through various forms on her writing tablet while she nodded at each appropriate pause in the marquis’ speech. She was trying her best at being patient with someone that clearly didn’t grasp that she had other things to do, but she was not as good at concealing her boredom as Josephine. Which was evident by the hard glare she was getting from the only man in the room.

He stood there red-faced as he huffed and puffed in anger, reminding Lavellan of an angry squirrel with nuts stashed in its cheeks. Unfortunately, this similarity amused her enough that a smile slipped past her otherwise neutral expression, which he noticed within seconds and immediately his nostrils flared. “Do you find your level of disrespect amusing!”

_No, I find your expressions amusing, that and the fact you’re starting to sound like a whistling tea kettle…_

She bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her thoughts to herself, knowing that there was no way Josie would forgive her if she didn’t.

Quickly, the Ambassador stepped forward to attempt to regain control of the conversation, something she seemed to have to do more often as of late. “Your grace, there is no need for such rhetoric. The Inquisitor merely closed her eyes for but a moment to better visualize the work that must be done. You understand, of course, being a man of great vision yourself.” She waited for him to take the bit of flattery she offered before she jotted a note to remind herself to order Lavellan an Orlesian mask, preferably one that covered the entirety of her face.

The Inquisitor watched the exchange, noting Josephine’s skill at handling those of high society as the man calmed. Lavellan was still not fully accustomed to the mannerisms of nobles and where Lavellan would blunder, Josephine would flourish, even without the use of barbed words and poisoned promises as the rest of them couldn’t live without.

From what Lavellan had gathered, the red lyrium posed a problem for Mistress Poulin, who had been sentenced to repair the town she had betrayed. The woman feared returning to Skyhold, but needed the Inquisition’s help, she must have used her connections to have the marquis speak on her behalf. Regardless, that left Lavellan face to face with a man whose voice sounded like a cat in heat.

The Inquisitor took a calming breath and clasped her hands together.

“Lady Montilyet is right, I was remembering the landscape around Sahrnia. It’s been awhile since I’d been there.” _Not that there was much there -other than shambles- when I was._ The last time Lavellan was in Sahrnia she was preoccupied with shooting arrows into red-templars and trying to avoid being killed in the process, not to mention being distracted by the first Choice Spirit she’d ever encountered.

She cleared her throat. “So it is settled then? The Inquisition will assist in the reconstruction efforts and remove the remaining red lyrium in Emprise Du Lion; in exchange, Sahrnia will allow some of the refugees from the war to take harbour within its walls-regardless of race.” She stressed the later, knowing full well that if given free reign, the humans would cherry-pick from the refugees, leaving those of races they deemed lesser outside the city gates. Considering that the Inquisition would be rebuilding Sahrnia to suit a larger population, there was little reason not to accept all that came whose homes had been destroyed in the war. The aspect of acceptance had been a sore point for the nobleman, but after Josephine pitched the idea as an act of philanthropy, he conceded.

The nobleman nodded his head in agreement.

Of course, that left the Inquisition with the problem of what to do with the remains of the red lyrium, something for the council to discuss with Varric and Dagna at a later date.

“We will send some of our Dwarven allies to help remove the red lyrium veins; they can record the amount of contamination in the surrounding areas. Once they send us their findings, we will know when it will be safe to continue.”

“Dwarves? You wish to send DWARVES? That is inconceivable! Those bearded buffoons have no sense of propriety, property or presentation. That simply will not do. They are uncivilized cave born barbarians!” The Marquis stamped his foot as if to prove how firmly he held his position on the matter, the Inquisitor was not amused.

She tightened her jaw as she narrowed her eyes and looked directly into his. It was one thing to tolerate a noble’s insensitive and bigoted rants on their lands, but when they were within Skyhold’s walls she expected them to show acceptance and respect or at the very least, tolerance. After all, it was a combined effort of all of the races in Thedas to take down Corypheus. That was something that should not be so easily forgotten.

She repositioned her footing and straightened herself, though she still stood shorter than he and Josephine, even with the thick soled shoes Leliana had given her. “Dwarves are resistant to lyrium, experienced with handling it and are master craftsmen. Would you prefer to risk others being corrupted for the sake of appearances? Perhaps a few chevaliers? Let me assure you that accepting the dwarves’ aid would be the wisest course, it will help open trade routes with them, which will be necessary while Sahrnia gets back on its feet. Need I remind you that you’ve already agreed to allowing other races within Sahrnia’s walls?”

Taken aback by the Inquisitor’s reprimanding and sharp tone, the marquis’ guard dropped for just a second, long enough for her to notice his gaze break from hers as his confidence dimmed behind his Orlesian mask. While he idea of seeing more red lyrium corrupted people was unsettling, the idea of a corrupted chevalier was absolutely terrifying and she was right that Sahrnia would need every bit of help it could get to remain on the map while it re-established itself.

The marquis took a minute to brush off his cuffs as he recomposed himself, stiffening his upper lip in the process. “To waste a chevalier’s time with such a tedious task would be dishonorable and my soldiers are otherwise occupied. The dwarves will have to do, provided that I receive proper reparations if they destroy any of my property.” He lifted his chin in satisfaction, clearly having convinced himself that he had made the decision of his own accord.

She ignored his insolent tone, refraining from reminding him that they’d be there precisely to repair a land that was already damaged; they couldn’t leave it in any worse condition even if they tried. Her thumb circled her middle finger as she kept her hands clasped together, a subconscious movement which occurred whenever she was annoyed.

To stop being irritated by him any further, she amused herself with the fact that the gap between his front teeth was because he still sucked his thumb when he slept-a little secret that Leliana whispered to her when she passed her in the great hall just before the meeting.

Lavellan steadied her voice. “Of course, although the Inquisition will be billing you for their work as well. We will know how much is owed to whom once everything is complete.”

It was then that Josephine stepped forward and cleared her throat. “I will send word to Mistress Poulin about all that we’ve discussed today so that she may make the appropriate arrangements.” Josephine gave her a curt nod, signalling to Lavellan that she could handle things on her own from there.

Without any further acknowledgement to the pompously dressed noble, she stepped out of the room and sighed in relief. It was better this way, she didn’t want to risk further embarrassing Josephine; she already knew her bluntness had earned her another talk from the Ambassador, imploring her to at least pretend to be interested when the nobles drifted off topic and to better conceal her emotions.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been better equipped to hold her tongue, but her own emotions had been betraying her and she could not explain why to Josephine. It was better that everyone believe her irritability was due to being overworked and needing sleep, instead of the truth. Fortunately, that was the last meeting she was to attend before she’d head out. After having to deal with that nitwit, she was grateful that she’d be leaving in the morning.

As far as anyone that mattered had to know, the Inquisitor was going to go investigate old elven ruins for the Inquisition, ones they had previously cleared out but not had the chance to look through in great detail. Of course, Commander Cullen wasn’t keen on the idea at all.

The Inquisitor and her Commander argued about whether she needed guards to escort her until near exhaustion. He only saw the excursion as a risk; she wanted the time alone. He felt that if word got out that the leader of the Inquisition was off unguarded, it would make her a tempting target for any of their enemies. She felt she could travel much faster alone and would be harder to track without a trail of Inquisition guards behind her.

It wasn’t until Leliana stepped in that they were forced to come to an agreement. Lavellan would leave with three of Leliana’s best Nightingales to escort her, which satisfied both the Inquisitor’s need for discretion and the Commander’s need to ensure the safety of the Inquisition’s leader.

Whether Leliana had overheard the argument personally, or if one of her little birds had flown off to tell her didn’t matter. Leliana knew the truth, while Cullen was unaware. If he had known, he would have made sure that the Inquisitor never left Skyhold until she had came to term and she didn’t want another reason to argue with him. They were good friends and the last thing she wanted to do was snap and say something she’d regret just because he was being his usual protective self.

Far too many sleepless nights had done little for her sanity and even less for her temperament. Lavellan had resorted to drugging herself at night to prevent waking up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, feeling as if she had been swallowed whole, sucked back into the Fade all over again.

It was Adan that had mentioned the dreamless sleep potions after he’d discovered her trembling in a corner of her room one morning, eyes fixed on her bed as if a demon would spawn from the sweat-soaked sheets at any given moment. It had taken her a long time to coax him into creating a large supply of them and he seemed to almost regret mentioning their existence once he had.

He didn’t know the the risks of long term use, but she assured him that it was better than her losing her mind. As an alternative, he taught her how to brew various teas which would have a lighter but similar effects for the nights where she might not need the full strength of the potions and had her promise to use them sparingly. Regardless, she asked him to make her an ample supply for her journey and she knew he’d reluctantly have them boxed up for her and placed on her bedside table before the night was over, along with the herbs she’d need for the teas as a reminder.

 _Dwarves seem to stay sane without ever dreaming, yet I'm feeling strained after a couple months._  
Maybe that's why they can sometimes be...prickly? I could ask Cabot.  
On second thought... _I’d rather not be banned from my own tavern._

Lavellan stood near the Inquisition throne, contemplating whether she should find Cassandra to vent out some of her frustrations or if she should simply go straight to her room to finish packing and to decompress. She lingered until a runner rushed past her as he headed towards the Undercroft, muttering to himself about volatile supplies for Dagna and how he needed to find a secure means to transport them.

_Ah, the caravans are here, full of supplies and…people._

Being swarmed by pilgrims was not something she felt she could handle after her meeting with the marquis. She was already on edge and being jostled about wouldn’t help matters, nor did she want to risk snapping among the masses. 

She could already hear Vivienne’s voice in the back of her mind. “ _My dear, we must present ourselves as the embodiment of confidence and strength, regardless of how we truly feel. The moment we appear weak is the moment they lose faith, both in you and in themselves. Chin up, darling. Don’t let them see you looking as if your chin is sewn to your chest.”_

The people both needed and deserved better than to see a short tempered Herald of Andraste that was barely holding herself together. With that decided, she turned on her heels and headed up to her chambers, where she could find some peace and quiet, far away from all the hussle bussle that went on below and before anyone caught her in the great hall.

As much as she liked to avoid the crowds, they did mean one thing-Cole would be too preoccupied with all the new people and their pains to come find her in her room, where he’d look at her with sad eyes and tell her how she should stay.

_He never likes it when I leave...it’s as if he’s afraid I’ll forget him while I’m gone..._

Hopefully, she’d be able to rest well enough that the blasted migraine that threatened to keep her company for the rest of the day would go away. _One can only hope..._

~*~ 

“Chargers!!!!” Bull bellowed over the beds of his men, his voice carrying easily down the long hall like room they all shared in their section of the barracks. A grin spread itself across his face as he watched Dalish and Skinner practically leap out from under their sheets while the rest of his troop begrudgingly moved under theirs. All the groans of protest caused Bull to laugh loudly with his head tilted back; meanwhile Grim and Rocky barely budged other than to tighten their blankets around themselves in hopes that the loud man would just go away.

“Time to pack our bags, boys. We’ve got work to do!” Unlike the others, Bull had been up for a few hours and was eager to get going. As much as he liked to spend leisurely days at the tavern with his crew, he much preferred being able to put his skills to use; not to mention that ever since Dorian had made a comment about his belt size, he’d become all too aware that he’d gained a few pounds since Corypheus’ defeat. That meant that it was time to get his ass back in action fast, particularly since training didn’t seem to be cutting it. The last thing he was going to allow was for him or his Chargers to get soft any time soon.

Krem sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with both palms and his elbows on his knees, nursing the headache from a hangover that was causing chaos with his head. “Couldn’t have given us a day’s notice, eh, boss? You know how I feel about surprises.”

“Where would the fun be in that? This way I get to watch your tiny miserable ass ride down a freezing cold mountain while you grumble about it.” Iron Bull moved forward and clapped his hand on Krem’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shove, causing Krem to fall back on his bed.

Krem grimaced at the idea of being jostled on horseback. “I’ll ride in the wagon with Stitches, thanks. Skinner can take point. I won’t do you much good up there like this.”

“He’s right, it’d be better her than him, ser. By the looks of him, he won’t be able to sit upright for long, much less ride a horse. I’d rather not be setting broken bones before we get to wherever we’re heading.” Stitches shook his head disapprovingly as he watched Krem struggle to get up.

Skinner and Dalish were already half dressed, not having wasted any time since Bull woke them. The two elves were always quick to be on the move, particularly when it meant moving away from a large group of people, or shem as Skinner prefered to call them.

Bull stepped between both Rocky and Grim’s beds, leaned forward and grabbed a corner of each of their blankets and pulled, exposing the barely dressed men beneath. That, of course, resulted in Rocky shouting something about a rock licker, while Grim simply looked sullen as he reluctantly got up. The _clunk clunk_ of his boots as they hit the floor, drawing attention to the fact he went to bed with them on, along with his trousers.

“Where will we go? Any shems that need killing?” asked Skinner from her spot against a wall, arms crossed over her chest.

Dalish was preoccupied strapping her sta--bow to her back, not being one for talking early in the morning. She glanced to Stitches and offered him an apologetic shrug on Skinner’s behalf.

“We’re bringing supplies to the Hessarians at the Storm Coast.”

After tugging on his boots, Krem looked up towards Iron Bull, his eyes red and sore as he watched Bull pace to pass the time while waiting for his crew to get dressed. This was not the sort of work that the Inquisition typically sent them on. If it wasn’t for the pounding sensation in Krem’s head, he may have bothered to pry. Fortunately, someone else did for him.

“Now ser, it’s not like you to get so worked up over a simple delivery mission. What really has you so excited?” Dalish asked.

A grin spread across Bull’s face from ear to ear. “A dragon!”

~*~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friends Calypsid for always being a doll and proofing :)
> 
> If you haven't got a chance yet to read her fic yet, I suggest you do ^_^.


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